


The Middle Ground

by ImpishTubist



Series: Living Witness [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Kid Fic, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1598768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpishTubist/pseuds/ImpishTubist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary returns from a mission with a surprise for Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Middle Ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notluvulongtime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notluvulongtime/gifts).



> This is a slightly expanded version of the birthday gift I wrote for Kim back in April. It follows “Living Witness” and probably won’t make sense if you haven’t read that. Inspired by [this GIF of a toddler in an airport](http://imgur.com/0AbkHXM). Not everything is warned for, so proceed at your own risk.

Peals of laughter echoed down the corridor, bouncing off the high ceiling and smooth walls. 

“Not so fast, Alice,” Sherlock cautioned, and the little girl obligingly slowed to a walk. A few travelers opted for the other travelator, stepping onto the conveyor belt with their rolling suitcases and sparing a quick smile for the little girl trotting alongside them before the belt whisked them away. 

Alice was going the wrong way down one of the airport’s travelators, trying valiantly to make it to the other side even as the belt’s opposite movements kept her from going very far. Sherlock had perched on the low sill of a nearby window, stretching his legs out in front of them and crossing them at the ankle. He tucked his hands into his pockets, watching Alice out of the corner of his eye as he surveyed the rest of the corridor.

The airport was nearly deserted at this ungodly hour of the morning, which was just as well. Alice was a bundle of energy and Mary’s plane had been delayed, and so Sherlock, in his half-awake state, had been saddled with entertaining a child who obviously had more energy than every person in Heathrow combined.

Mary had departed four months ago for an undercover mission that Mycroft had recruited her for, something that Sherlock had been less than pleased about. The nature of the mission had been kept under wraps, and he could pull nothing from his brother or his wife about it. The fact that Mycroft had been desperate enough to recruit Mary, despite his promises never to draw her into his line of work, was enough to tell Sherlock that the situation was dire and there was a very real threat to Mary’s life. But she had felt that the risks had been worth it, which told him that there were countless lives at stake that she was determined to save. There was no other way she could be pulled from her daughter’s life for so long. 

They hadn’t spoken since Mary’s November departure - one of the many safeguards Mycroft had put into place to ensure Mary’s safety abroad, and that of her family back home. Mycroft had only given Sherlock a twelve-hour notice of Mary’s impending arrival back home, and so here they were at the airport, Sherlock fighting exhaustion and at the same time thrumming with excitement.

They were going on two hours now since Mary’s original arrival time, as the short hop across the Channel had been delayed twice. She was in transit now, though, finally, and due to land in the next fifteen minutes. Sherlock glanced at the nearby display board, which listed all of the incoming and outgoing flights. 

“Is she yours?”

Sherlock glanced around to see that a young man had paused nearby, briefly halting his mad rush to his gate. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and no older than twenty-two, if that. He was clearly an athlete, and his smile was easy and kind. Sherlock found himself returning it, though he didn’t miss the quick appraising glance the man gave him, sweeping his eyes swiftly over Sherlock’s body. 

“Yes.” Sherlock took his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest casually. “She is.”

The man caught sight of the ring on Sherlock’s left hand and something in his smile dimmed. He bade them good morning and hurried on his way. 

“Trying to pick up men in an airport,” Sherlock muttered under his breath. He shook his head and went to retrieve Alice. She squealed as he lifted her off the conveyor built and perched her on his hip. He poked her nose. “Was I ever that young?”

“Daddy, put me down!” Alice protested, though she giggled when he tickled her ribs. “I’m not a baby!”

“No, you certainly aren’t,” Sherlock agreed, though he did feel a slight pang at that. He found he rather missed the days when Alice would allow him to hold her without protest. He set her back on the ground. “You’re getting too big, Miss Alice.”

“I’m almost five,” Alice announced proudly. 

Yes. Definitely too big.

They strolled down to the baggage reclaim area, and Sherlock found the luggage carousel where Mary’s flight would be collecting their bags. The vast room was mostly empty, and so he let Alice roam free. Ever the explorer, she investigated each of the luggage carousels, hid behind luggage that was sitting on the ground, and said hello to the few weary travelers who were there. Sherlock only went after her once, and that was when she tried to climb on top of a moving belt. 

“You can’t climb on that one,” he admonished gently, taking her by the hand and leading her away.

“But it’s fun,” Alice said plaintively, but she followed him obligingly. 

Slowly, passengers from Mary’s flight began to trickle down into the baggage reclaim area. It was several minutes before Sherlock finally caught sight of a familiar platinum-blonde head. 

“Ally,” he said quietly, tapping her on her shoulder to get her attention. He pointed at Mary. “Look who’s there.”

“Who?” Alice asked. And then she shrieked, “ _Mama!”_

The small crowd of travelers parted as Alice ran towards them, as fast as her small legs would allow. Mary sank into a crouch and held out her arms, catching Alice as she barreled into her. 

“Hi, baby girl,” Mary said thickly, closing her eyes as she hugged Alice tight. “Oh, Mama’s missed you.”

She straightened, picking Alice up with her, and looked up to see Sherlock approaching. 

“I hope I was missed as well,” he said lightly. He placed two fingers under Mary’s chin and tilted her head up for a brief kiss. 

“Nah - why would I miss you?” Mary teased. She shifted Alice onto her hip so that she could cup Sherlock’s cheek with her free hand, her expression growing tender. “It’s good to see you, Will.”

Sherlock retrieved Mary’s suitcase from the luggage carousel. It was a monstrous thing, bulging and lopsided, and far heavier than it had been when she first left on her mission four months ago. 

“Presents,” Mary said enigmatically when Sherlock shot her a look, and he rolled his eyes. 

Alice chattered at Mary the whole way home, telling her about her days at primary school, her evenings with Sherlock, and about the frequent weekends they spent with Greg Lestrade. 

“I should make Greg dinner sometime,” Mary said in slight amusement. “He had to babysit the two of you for four months. Poor man.”

When Alice was occupied with looking out the car window, Sherlock stuck his tongue out at Mary. She laughed and swatted his shoulder. 

Alice had taken over the majority of the living room during Mary’s months away, and her trains, dolls, and Legos were currently scattered all over the floor. She went immediately over to the corner where she was building a massive town out of blocks when they returned home. 

“So much for a heartfelt reunion,” Mary said in some amusement. 

“She’s four,” Sherlock huffed as he hauled the suitcase up the final step and rolled it into the flat. Mary took it from him. “Which means, if you can hold her attention for more than a minute at a time, you’re something special. What in God’s name did you put in that thing? Bricks?”

Mary pulled him close. She went up on her toes to give him a gentle, lingering kiss, and she whispered, “God, I missed you.”

Sherlock rested his forehead against hers. “Next time, I’m coming with you.”

Mary showered and then went into the bedroom to change while Sherlock set about making coffee for them both. She started to unpack, and Sherlock found that he relaxed at the sound of the familiar background noises emanating throughout the flat. It had been too empty without Mary these past few months; too lonely without her sleeping at his side or co-parenting with him. With Alice off at school now, things had been almost back to the way they were before, with Sherlock working on cases and experiments alone in a quiet flat. He hated it. 

“You know something, Sherlock?” Mary called from the bedroom, interrupting his thoughts. “We’re going to need a bigger place.”

“Oh?” Sherlock asked, mouth quirking in amusement. “Did you buy too many presents? Or, no, don’t tell me - we’re finally going to get a dog.”

“Not exactly.” Mary appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, fighting a smile. “We’re going to have a child.”

It took Sherlock several long moments to piece her words together, slotting them in with what he was now seeing. Mary had changed out of her long coat and the loose-fitting clothes she had traveled in. Now, she was wearing jeans and a green blouse Sherlock had never seen before; clothes she had purchased while abroad because she needed bigger sizes. She rested a hand on her rounded stomach, watching him carefully.

“You’re -” he started, and then stopped. 

“We talked about this,” Mary said gently. “We knew it was a possibility.”

“It was only once,” Sherlock said lamely. He had been curious and Mary had been obliging, and the deed had been barely more than a teenage-like fumble in the dark; over before it began, really, as it was the first time Sherlock had been an active participant in sex since he was twenty-four years old. It had also been precipitated by Mary’s announcement that she was taking Mycroft’s assignment, and Sherlock had been driven by a desire to know everything there was to possibly know about Mary; to be as close to her as possible in case she never returned home. Coming apart while inside her, her legs wrapped around his waist and her mouth hot against his, had been indescribable. He cherished the memory, even as he had no need to repeat it. 

Mary snorted. “Once is all it takes.”

“You never said.”

“I was undercover,” Mary reminded him gently. “And I wasn’t sure at first if that’s what was happening. Once Mycroft realised my condition, though, he pulled me off of fieldwork and had me working behind the scenes. But even then, I couldn’t speak with you directly, and I wasn’t going to let you hear the news from your brother.”

Mary’s brow furrowed as she continued to watch his expression. “Are you okay? Do you want some water?”

Sherlock held up a hand; she fell silent.

“Why didn’t you come home sooner?” he asked quietly. “You should have been here.”

“I’m not a delicate flower, Sherlock, and there were lives at stake. I was needed,” Mary said simply. 

“They weren’t more important than yours. Or the - the baby’s.” Sherlock felt the colour drain from his face. _A baby_. “Oh, shit.”

“Hey.” Mary crossed the room to him in three quick steps and took his face in her hands. “Calm down, sweetheart. Take a deep breath. Mycroft had his people take very good care of me. I got regular medical care. So far, this pregnancy has been a lot smoother than my first one - I think we’re going to have a very easy-going baby.”

“A baby,” Sherlock said slowly, trying out the words on his tongue, trying to get his mind to accept them. “We’re having a baby.”

Mary gave him a reassuring smile. Sherlock swallowed hard. 

“Can I…” He trailed off, but Mary caught his meaning anyway. She took one of his hands in both of hers and pressed it against her stomach. 

“The baby started kicking at eighteen weeks - a bit on the early side,” Mary said, that gentle smile still plastered to her face. Sherlock’s chest felt tight. “You might be able to feel - there.”

Sherlock started at the sudden vibration under his palm, an unmistakable kick. He placed both hands on Mary’s stomach while she braced hers on her hips. If he was calculating correctly, she was about twenty-one weeks along - just over five months. She had a trim figure to begin with, and so her growing stomach wasn’t as prominent at five months as many pregnant women would be. Sherlock’s broad hands easily encompassed it, but as the baby kicked underneath his touch, he suddenly felt very small. This was _his_ child - his flesh and blood, growing inside the woman he had come to adore. 

“I’m due in July,” Mary said, answering the unasked question.

“And do you know if - I mean, have you found out if Alice is going to have a sister or - or a brother?” Sherlock managed, rather more shakily than he had intended. 

Mary grinned at him. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes - no -” Sherlock cut himself off and paused for a moment, considering. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Are you sure?”

Sherlock nodded. Mary’s grin, if possible, grew even wider.

“It’s a boy,” she said quietly. “You’re going to have a son.”

Later that night, after Mary had fallen asleep, Sherlock carefully extracted himself from her grip and slid out of bed. He was reluctant to go, as it was the first night in four months that he had been able to hold her, and because he found the changes to her body both exhilarating and fascinating to feel. But his mind was far from restful, chugging away like a steam engine, and he needed to find himself some peace. 

The lights were still on in Lestrade’s rowhouse, and Sherlock let himself in without bothering to knock. 

“Oi, what the hell are you doing here?” Lestrade called from the living room. “You’re supposed to be spending time with that wife of yours.”

Sherlock wiped his shoes on the mat and hung his coat on the back of the door. He went into the living room, where Lestrade was sitting in an overstuffed armchair with a book on his lap and his feet propped up on an ottoman. He took off his reading glasses and peered at Sherlock. 

“No trouble in paradise, I hope,” he said after a moment spent carefully examining Sherlock. “She’s only just got back. Don’t tell me you had a row already.”

“No,” Sherlock said finally. “Nothing like that.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and stood there awkwardly. Lestrade frowned at him. 

“Then what is it?” he asked. He closed his book and set it aside before pushing himself to his feet with a soft groan. “Christ, lad, you look like you’re about to fall over. Do you want some water?”

Sherlock shook his head, and then said, “I need to sit down.”

And he did, his legs folding beneath him right then and there. He sat down heavily on the floor, and Lestrade padded over to his side. 

“Sherlock?” he asked, sinking into a crouch. He put his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and searched his face. “Sherlock, what is it? What’s happened?”

“Mary’s pregnant,” Sherlock managed finally. He cleared his throat and added unnecessarily, “She’s having a baby.”

“Oh, Christ,” Lestrade said, his brow furrowing further, which Sherlock found somewhat bewildering. “She, uh - hell. Was it - some bloke she met over there?”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped to Lestrade’s face.

“It’s _mine_ ,” he said indignantly, and Lestrade’s eyes widened. “It happened before she left.”

Lestrade gaped at him. Finally, he managed, “I don’t believe it.”

Sherlock huffed and pushed Lestrade’s hands off his shoulders. “Fuck off. I’d never been with a woman before and I was curious.”

“Hey, hey, easy, mate,” Lestrade said, holding up his hands. “Forgive a man for making assumptions, but from what you’ve told me of your arrangement, you don’t do - that.”

“Well, I did. Once,” Sherlock grunted. 

“And you knew this was a possibility, right?” Lestrade looked defensive as Sherlock shot him a glare. “Hey, I’m just asking.”

“We decided it was an outcome we wouldn’t be opposed to,” Sherlock said softly, dropping his gaze to the floor. He hadn’t wanted even the barrier of a condom separating him from Mary on that night. “Of course we knew it was a possibility. But the news is still… unexpected.”

Lestrade sat down then, too, and regarded him carefully for some moments. “And she never told you?”

“We weren’t allowed to communicate while she was on the mission, and she didn’t want Mycroft to tell me.” Sherlock rubbed a hand across his face, still unable to process the news. “She’s due in July. A baby. Shit.”

He rested his forehead against his knees, fighting down nausea. “We’ve been giving away Alice’s clothes and toys as she outgrows them, but now we’re going to need some for the baby. And - and nappies. We’ll need lots of those. And a new pushchair, and a high chair, and a crib. And some storybooks, and - God, I’ll need to learn _lullabies.”_

Lestrade blinked at him. “Lullabies?”

“Alice outgrew them by the time she came to live with me,” Sherlock muttered. “I never had to commit any to memory. But it’s what babies like, yes? I’ll have to learn some.”

Lestrade smoothed a hand over his mouth. Sherlock knew he was trying to smother a laugh, and glared at him.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

“I can teach you some, if you like,” Lestrade offered, a smile tugging at his lips. “The girls used to love ‘em. Let’s see, there was that one about the horses -”

“Stop it.”

“ - and one about spiders…”

Sherlock groaned as Lestrade started to hum a light tune. He wasn’t going to be able to do this, and said as much out loud. Lestrade stopped humming and considered him for a moment.

“Look at it this way,” Lestrade said at last, more cheerfully than Sherlock thought was warranted, “you’ve been so broken up lately about Alice attending primary school. Now you’ll have a new baby to keep you occupied. Kind of exciting, yeah?”

Sherlock scowled. “Inflicting me on a child isn’t exactly what I would call _exciting_.”

“Hey.” Lestrade brushed his knuckles against Sherlock’s jaw. “You’re going to be fine. You know that, right?”

Sherlock wordlessly shook his head. No, he wasn’t assured of that, not one bit. Lestrade pursed his lips. 

“You’ve done right by Alice so far,” he pointed out. Sherlock snorted softly.

“That was luck,” he muttered. “Alice is extraordinary. She doesn’t need me.”

“Don’t say that,” Lestrade said firmly. “I see so much of you in her. She’s a beautiful little girl, and it’s all thanks to you and Mary. You’ll do right by this baby, too.”

Lestrade pushed himself to his feet, his knees cracking, and then offered a hand down to Sherlock. Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, though he swayed. Lestrade steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.

“So tell me,” Lestrade said, giving a small smile, “is it a boy or girl?”

Sherlock gave a huff of laughter, an unexpected warmth washing through him despite his trepidation. “A boy.”

Lestrade pulled him into a hug. Sherlock, caught off-guard, froze. Then, slowly, he sank into the embrace, resting his hands on Greg’s back and burying his face in the other man’s shoulder. When they pulled apart, Lestrade said, “I’m not going to tell you that you’re going to be a good father, because you already _are_ a good father. Alice is lucky to have you. And this new baby will be, too.”

Sherlock swallowed hard. 

“I don’t remember my own father,” he said quietly. “He died when I was a baby. I never had any - point of reference. But I’ve found that, when I’m uncertain, sometimes I think of what Victor would do. And sometimes - sometimes I think of you. If I’m good for Alice, it’s partly because of you.”

He couldn’t say for certain, but in the dim light of the room he thought that Lestrade’s eyes were suddenly swimming.

“Go on, then,” Lestrade said finally, gruffly. He clapped Sherlock on the shoulder and cleared his throat. “Get on home. Take care of Mary. And keep me apprised, yeah? I’m happy for you, lad.”

Sherlock made to leave, but he only got as far as the threshold before turning around and crossing the room to Lestrade again. He pulled Lestrade into a quick hug, mirroring the white-knuckled embrace Lestrade had swept him into upon his return from the dead, and muttered, “Thank you, Greg,” into his ear. 

Mary was asleep when Sherlock returned home half an hour later. He changed back into his sleep pants as quietly as he could and slid into bed, pressing up against her from behind and wrapping his arm around her round belly. He was still having difficulty processing her news, but it was slowly becoming less and less of a shock every time he thought about the baby. 

“Did talking to Greg help?” Mary asked suddenly, and Sherlock started. He didn’t even bother asking how she knew; Mary could always read him, whether he wanted her to or not. 

“I’m unsure,” Sherlock said honestly. “But he appears to have confidence in me, and I’ve learned to trust his instincts.”

“As well you should,” Mary said simply. She shifted slightly, letting out a soft groan. “Little one’s active tonight. Goodness.”

Sherlock laid his palm flat on her belly, feeling the flutter of life beneath his hand. 

“This mission,” he said, “it was dangerous. And while I know you like the work, and like to feel useful, I don’t - I don’t want to have to tell the children someday that you’re not coming home.”

“I know,” Mary said after a moment. “And I could say the same thing about your work.”

Sherlock pressed his face into her shirt and closed his eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We compromise without compromising ourselves,” Mary said. “I’ll go back to working at a clinic, where I’m helping people without putting myself in harm’s way. And you’ll have to be even more selective about the cases that you take from your website. Missing bunny rabbits and cats stuck in trees and adulterous husbands - simple stuff like that.”

Sherlock snorted to himself. Years ago, the thought of taking on such simple cases for the rest of his life would have made him miserable. But raising Alice was fascinating in and of itself, and a new baby meant a new adventure. There was nothing dull about this life they had stumbled into quite by accident, and Sherlock was grateful for it every day.

“Yeah, alright,” he said hoarsely into the expectant silence. Mary squeezed his hand gratefully, and he cleared his throat before saying softly, “Victor’s middle name was Henry.”

“Henry,” Mary repeated thoughtfully. “That’s a nice name. Henry Holmes - that has a certain ring to it.”

She paused for a moment, and then added, “I want him to have your name, too. Henry William. How does that sound?”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “Rather like an old monarch. Surely there are better people you can think of to name your son after.”

Mary twisted around in his arms and placed a kiss on his nose. “ _Our_ son. And I can think of nothing better than to name him after the two greatest men I’ve known.”

Sherlock’s heart twisted. “You never knew Victor.”

“I know him through you. From the stories you’ve told me, and the pictures I’ve seen. I think I’d have liked him,” Mary said. “I know he was wonderful. There’s a bit of him in you, even after all these years. There always will be. And there will always be a bit of him in your son, because he’s going to learn from you. Henry William Holmes. It’s a good name.”

Sherlock swallowed hard and gave a tight nod. If Mary noticed the tear, she was polite enough not to say anything, and when she rolled back over, Sherlock discreetly wiped his face on the pillowcase before gathering her into his arms once again.

Mary fell asleep shortly after, and Sherlock held her through the night.   
 


End file.
